


separate lives

by frostbittenradicals



Category: Cambridge Five RPF, Cambridge Spies
Genre: (kind of), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Bisexual Kim, Canon Gay Character, Closeted Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Infidelity, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, POV Bisexual Character, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-12 07:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15990566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostbittenradicals/pseuds/frostbittenradicals
Summary: Intimacy. Guy wants intimacy, not sex, and Kim isn't entirely sure how to handle the abrupt realization that he would have gladly provided either.Kim opts to join Guy in the guest bed instead of sleeping on the couch after an argument with Aileen. Everything that follows has been a long time coming.Written with theCambridge Spiesportrayals in mind, but could probably also be read independent of the particular canon.





	separate lives

“Move over.”

Guy blinks at him. Clearly he's beyond drunk, which doesn't surprise Kim in the slightest. He's gotten woefully used to it, although Aileen certainly hasn't. She doesn't know Guy like he does and probably never will.

“Not much room on a twin bed, Kim Philby.”

“You manage it with the men you bring here.”

“Yes, well, I tend to find myself on top of them, not lying beside them. Unless you've been planning a sordid homosexual tryst this entire time, there doesn't appear to be room at the inn.”

Kim sighs with exasperation and rolls his eyes. “Move over, you mad bastard. ‘s my house and you're a side sleeper anyway.”

“Fine.” With theatrical effort, Guy turns onto his side and moves to the edge of the bed. Kim joins him under the covers, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling through the darkness. He can smell the alcohol on Guy's breath, so strong tonight that it seems to have overwhelmed the omnipresent scent of garlic, which he supposes he should be grateful for _._ The mattress is pleasantly warm where he was lying prior to his being asked to move.

“And what brings you here?” Guy asks.

“Aileen. She's not happy with me for bringing _you_ here, you know.”

“Ah, Aileen. Your lovely wife. In sickness and in health. Poor woman.”

Kim doesn't know what to say to that, so he lies in silence as Guy continues his new tirade, adopting a mocking falsetto that nonetheless remains dampered by drowsy intoxication. “Oh, darling, Guy scares me, he's too wild, bringing all of these strange men into our house, all of these _homosexuals_ under our roof--”

“Guy, stop it.” He's right about the nature of her complaints. Poor woman indeed, although she's repeatedly asked him to throw out his own best friend, which is out of the question and beyond insulting. To even  _ask_ , to think that's something there was even a sliver of a chance he'd do! He'd sooner throw _her_ out. Belatedly, Philby wonders how many men Guy's has buggered on these sheets since the last time Aileen changed them and curses himself for forgetting to force Burgess out of the bed and change them himself. _Too late now._

“As you wish.”

Guy lapses into silence. Kim closes his eyes and starts to let the weariness overtake him, his tight shoulders finally relaxing into the mattress. He's on the brink of falling asleep when Guy's voice cuts through the darkness. Kim groans inwardly.

“You're a handsome devil, Kim. Such a waste.”

He knows where this is going.

“I'm happy with her, Guy.”

“As happy as the queers of Washington D.C. would be with you? Funny things, American ponces. Repressed bastards. I suppose your darling wife would be quite upset to find you in bed with an awful _homosexual_.” Kim knows he's right.

“That doesn't matter. You're my friend. Now go to sleep. I have to work in the morning and so do you.”

Guy makes a quiet sound of acknowledgement and the mattress shifts as he gets comfortable.

"How long until we're executed, do you think?"

 _At this hour?_ "We're not going to be executed, Guy. They have suspicions, but absolutely no concrete evidence. I've made sure of it. And if they somehow do find irrefutable evidence, we'll be extracted, and that will be that."

"Donald's cracking." _So are you._

"It's being handled."

"Is it?" Remarkable how easily Guy sees through him even while moderately drunk. Kim swallows, finding his mouth quite dry.

"Yes." He hardly knows if he's telling the truth any more, although that's the nature of this business, of their collegiate blood pact with Stalin. So much of his life, all of their lives, are lived in half-truths. Genuine smiles, genuine laughter, genuine _fondness_ for some of his "colleagues" as they head home to their families and he heads off to betray them to his handler. Especially Nicholas Elliott - it's a cruel twist of fate that Nick has to be with _them,_ because he really does like Nick as a person, and in another lifetime they'd probably be every bit as close as himself and Blunt, himself and Maclean.

Kim Philby allows himself to feel exhausted by the weight of it all, just this once.

Guy scoots closer, until his forehead is pressed into Kim's shoulder and his arms, which he's curled against his chest like a sleeping cat's, are snugly tucked between the two of them. The contact is a little jarring, but not unexpected - they've always been physically affectionate, just never while _lying next to each other in a twin bed_  until now _._ Kim can sense a difference in the tone of it this time, too, enough for a faint twinge of guilt to seep into his consciousness, the kind that comes from knowing what one is doing is wrong but not being overly bothered by that knowledge. Aileen would probably ask for a divorce, seeing as she's already looking for a reason. Jacky would just tolerate it, because Jacky has spent over a decade tolerating whatever Guy throws at him.

"I truly hope you're right, Kim," he says quietly. Philby can feel the warmth of his friend's breath against his bare arm as he speaks, and how it fades once he's gone silent. The feeling is enough to make his heart shiver.

He pauses, then disengages the arm Guy's currently pressed against to drape it around his shoulders and draw him closer instead. Kim knows that he shouldn't allow this, let alone _encourage it_. The trouble is, he's not compelled to put an end to it. The warmth and weight of his friend's body against his own is comforting, soothing. Aileen hasn't wanted to cuddle since two months ago, unless it's to wrap her arms around his upper arm during their routine evening argument under the laughable belief that doing so will somehow strengthen her request that he throw his own best friend out of _his_ house. And yet here is Guy, already half-asleep, resting tangled around him and asking for nothing in return. It is a relief, to have his yearning for close physical contact at last sated.

When Guy frees one arm to reach out and rest a hand on his cheek, lightly turning his head, he knows what's coming. He doesn't turn away, doesn't tell him to stop as any good husband would do - because he doesn't _want_ him to stop. Instead he turns onto his side, bringing the two of them face-to-face. 

Kim does more than _let_ Guy Burgess kiss him when he chooses to make his move. _He_ kisses Guy _back_ , even despite the overwhelming, unpleasant taste of red wine that seems to have permanently stained the inside of his mouth.His friend’s hand leaves his cheek to rest on his hip, aimlessly stroking back and forth with the thumb. He almost pulls away to inform Guy that _no,_ he is _not_ interested in having sex right under his wife's nose, not interested in being another one of his countless sexual partners - but after a few seconds it becomes apparent that for once that doesn't seem to be what he's after. Intimacy. Guy wants intimacy, not sex, and Kim isn't entirely sure how to handle the abrupt realization that he would have gladly provided either.

He'd always known Guy was attracted to him, ever since their Cambridge days, although knowing wasn't much of an achievement considering that he had never bothered to _hide_ it, per se; a few times over the past decade or so he's made the occasional comment that let him know that said feelings were still alive and well. He has to have known for some time now that it isn't just women, has  _never_ been just women, Kim's sure of it. He'd never directly pointed it out, but would he really have been so persistent if he sincerely believed he didn't have a chance? Naturally, Kim had never thought of him as a man he'd even consider any kind of homosexual relationship with; Guy was charismatic but certainly was not his type, whatever that may have been. But bit by bit Guy had apparently chipped away at his resolve and common sense, and now here they are.

“If I didn't know you better,” Guy says upon pulling away, resting his head on Kim's shoulder and letting his arm settle over his belly once Philby's returned to lying on his back, “I’d say you were half ponce, Kim Philby.”

“Maybe I am.”

"Only maybe?" There's clear amusement in his tone; although Kim can't see his face in the darkness, he can feel the cheek pressed against him rise with a smile. "That felt like more than a  _maybe._ "

Kim huffs and rolls his eyes. "Bastard."

"No, really, have you had practice? Spent some quality time with our American friends?"

"Kissing a man's no different than kissing a woman. I've had practice."  _Is it? Is it different?_ Kim can't say he likes the scrape of stubble against his chin, but so it goes. He leaves the statement purposefully vague; it's for Burgess to infer whether or not he's had practice _with men_. He's kissed many, many women by this point in his life -  _Kim Philby, the sexual athlete_ , as Guy had said when they first met - but, in truth, Guy _isn't_ the first man he's kissed. There was an English infantryman before him, a Private James Willis with brilliant green eyes and strong, broad shoulders. Two dates only, and then James had been deployed and disappeared without a trace.

He'd looked nothing at all like Guy, who Kim supposes really isn't  _that_ objectively attractive. But he has beautiful eyes, and is always smiling and laughing (except for when he decidedly isn't), constantly bursting with  _life._ Guy's  _exciting._ Charismatic. Perhaps that, in combination with his close proximity to Kim's own heart, is Guy's draw, is why he's allowed all of this. It's not just the irritating state of his gradually crumbling marriage, Kim knows that much.

"Ha. I'll say."

"Glad to have your approval."  _What time is it? Probably at least three in the morning. God, tomorrow's going to be a wringer._  Despite the sudden excitement, he's struggling to keep himself awake, which is troubling - Kim knows that it is a very, _very_ bad idea to fall asleep like this, given the hell that will be unleashed if Aileen decides to wake him up for breakfast and finds the two of them comfortably huddled together like lovers, but she doesn't dare enter the guest room these days for fear of walking in on some kind of homosexual orgy, so she'll probably just assume he's left for work without breakfast. Guy generally wakes himself up, and even if she'd decided to come get him, she'd have the decency to knock. He decides to allow himself to enjoy the moment. He needs this. He won't get caught - Kim Philby never gets caught.

Nonetheless, he doesn't want to _hurt_ Aileen if it can be avoided, because he _is_ fond of her, and he does feel deep affection for the woman despite the strained nature of things at the moment. Maybe he just doesn't want to deal with trying to mollify her should she find out. He suspects the truth is somewhere between the two. "You shouldn't mention this to Aileen."

"No?" 

"No. She wouldn't understand. Now go to sleep, Guy. I'd like to have at least an hour of rest before I go to work and you need to whether you like it or not."

"If you insist. Ponce."

Kim can't help the amused smile that spreads across his face. "Yes, maybe, partly.  _Go to sleep._ "

Burgess audibly sighs, but he's tired, too, and it shows. "Whatever you'd like, Kim. Your house." Philby can feel the smile that accompanies the words, and how it gradually fades as the sedative effect of however much wine he's ingested since early evening at last catches up with him. Within a few minutes, Guy's fast asleep, his chest rising and falling against Kim's side with a slow, even cadence, and the arm draped across his midsection is completely limp. Kim closes his eyes, but sleep doesn't find him.

Guy's right: Donald is cracking. Meanwhile, Anthony's jumped ship, and Guy himself is growing increasingly unhinged. He drinks more, stays out longer, eats irregularly. Half the time he doesn't come home until midnight or later, when only Kim's still awake, and he reeks of booze and vomit and more booze when he staggers in and slams the door shut behind him with no regard for the fact that Aileen is sleeping upstairs. Spycraft is taking a toll on Burgess, and there's hardly anything Kim can do to stop the spiral - at this rate he'll have to be sent away just as damage control. And then what? Who will be left for him? Nick? Nicholas Elliott, whom he will inevitably sever ties with at some point down the road? His marriage is more of a burden than anything else these days, and God knows Aileen doesn't understand the full extent of the things weighing down his soul. No, there is only Guy left.

He cradles Guy's sleeping body a little closer to his own with the arm that's remained tucked around his back, as if doing so will somehow keep life's innumerable unfairnesses from prying him away. "We'll be fine, Guy," Kim mumbles into his hair. "We'll be fine."

They have to be.


End file.
